


Awakening

by lokilickedme



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual spanking, Dom Tom Hiddleston, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Past physical abuse, Vaginal Fingering, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3685368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all it takes to fix a broken soul is someone whispering "May I?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

 

  
I knew when I first laid eyes on him that he was trouble. Not trouble in the sense that he was reckless or a player or even a classic bad boy - he was none of those things - but trouble in that he was dangerous. He wasn't threatening or scary, there was no abusive vibe about him...I just knew that if I let him too close, I could very easily lose myself to him.

I'm not an obsessive personality, I'm not dependent and I don't get easily attached to people. I don't even get attached to pets. But something in this man's eyes, in his pale blue gaze that so brazenly looked me from top to toe and then melted into a shy smile, so completely incongruous to the wildly sexualized eyefuck he'd been committing just moments before, just screamed beware...be careful...oh hell, run.

We met, we sparked, we started seeing each other. Our relationship became sexual within days, which is unusual for me since I'm what's generally considered the type of damaged goods that is better off staying away from men - abusive relationship in the recent past, bad attitude toward love in general and men in particular, all the usual stereotypical textbook wary woman been-treated-bad nonsense that comes with being physically hit a lot and mentally beaten more. It was true, the nonsense; my ex was a vicious bastard who hurt me every chance he got, until I went from strong and brave to weak and scared in the space of our two years together. But I never lost my will, and ten months down the road after him I met Tom, the boy with the eyes that went from innocent choirboy to dirtyminded predator in 0.2.

I felt safe with him, and he treated me well. More than well, actually - he treated me like a princess, and never let an opportunity to tell me I deserved it pass unused. He was perfect.

In bed he was tender and sweet and gentle, always letting me set the pace, never rushing me or pressuring me or coming anywhere near to forcing me, ever. He was kind and considerate, and we quickly grew comfortable with one another. It was all very vanilla and lovely.

Until the day it wasn't.

He was leaving town for a business trip and was going to be gone for four days. I didn't want him to go, but I was okay with it - I knew he was faithful whenever he traveled, and his return always meant a day of sweet lovemaking to decompress. He'd been telling me he loved me for a couple of weeks, but I hadn't yet said it back...I knew for sure that I cared about him, and I felt like I probably loved him, but when he said it to me I found myself just staring at him with my mouth closed. He always smiled reassuringly and touched my cheek, his expression one of pure understanding. He knew about Eric. He knew all the awful things he'd done to me. And so he always said it, but never expected me to say it back, which I was grateful for. I knew the day would come, and so did he. He was okay with waiting for it.

He spent his last night in town at my place. We went to bed early so we could say goodbye properly, and it was perfect and sweet and lovely like it always was. He touched me softly, stroked me gently, kissed me reverently, and whispered to me sweetly. And when we were finished and laying next to one another, he suddenly reached between my legs and pressed his palm flat against me.

He didn't usually touch me like that unless we were having sex. He was respectful of my apprehensions and patient with my hangups. But something was suddenly different. His voice was low and growling as he whispered in my ear,

_"I want you to think of me while I'm gone."_

And then his palm was grinding against me, his long fingers curling down to press hard into that soft bit where your body tries laughably to cover itself. That bit where fingers and tongues and cocks can invade so easily with just a push. The most useless protection ever. His fingertips pushed it open and slid right past it, paying it no heed.

Instead of feeling invaded, I felt owned. But it wasn't the kind of owned that leaves you hopeless of ever being your own person again - I had been there and I knew what that felt like. That was ugly and frightening. This wasn't it. This was the kind of ownership that made you feel loved and wanted and fiercely protected from the rest of the world. I lay still and didn't resist it. I was rewarded with his voice, praising my good behavior.

Like a cat letting its master stroke it in return for treats.

I wanted him to tell me I was a good girl again, which I knew was a ludicrous thing for me to want because I wasn't that kind of woman. I didn't need to be petted and preened and complimented and adored; I'd grown past all that long ago. But I found myself wanting it anyway. I stayed perfectly still while he stroked his palm up and down slowly on me, dragging deliciously against my clit that was suddenly throbbing with desire and need, waiting for him to say it again. Instead, his voice told me what I already knew: that I was wet and warm and ready. He replaced his palm on my sensitive little button with his fingers and the intensity of my desire ratcheted up a few notches within seconds. He knew exactly how to touch me, and he had no fear of doing so.

We'd already made love, and once was usually enough for me. I was confused at my sudden aching need to go for a second round, and a little bit scared by the urgency I felt in the pit of my stomach to have him inside me again so soon. But he was making no move to take me...no, he was just touching me, and growling into my ear in a way that made my inner muscles clench up, which was surprising when I thought about it through my hazy fog of need. I don't think I'd ever been aroused twice in one night before. I always had to grit my teeth and wait for seconds to be over when Eric woke up during the night and rolled over onto me to satisfy himself. Tom had never done that to me...he'd always understood that once was all I was capable of, emotionally and physically. He wouldn't push me beyond my abilities on either.

But this was different. Suddenly so, so different. I wanted him again, and his fingers stroking and rubbing me were bringing me to a level of arousal I hadn't experienced before. Maybe it was his voice, talking to me quietly, so close to my ear, telling me things that seem childish and silly by light of day but at that moment sounded like worship straight from the lips of the angels. That I was a good girl...that I was his sweet baby and he loved me...that I was to miss him while he was gone, and he would reward me for obeying him.

Those words from Eric would have chilled me. From Tom, they made me inexplicably happy. I wanted to please him. I wanted him to keep touching me. Whatever it took.

His words suddenly changed from praise to instructions - _lie very still, close your eyes...I'm going to give you some pain, do you trust me not to hurt you?_

The incongruousness of it didn't even register. I think I might have made a questioning sound, but I know no words left my lips because I was incapable of forming any. He asked me again - do you trust me, my love? I could feel the wetness oozing out of me as his fingers slipped easily across my skin, waking up every sleepy nerve ending, sending them all into a united frenzy. I know for sure I nodded, but that bit about the pain had me suddenly on alert. He had never hurt me. Never.

 _Close your eyes,_ he whispered. _Do as I say._

_May I hurt you?_

Everything in me tried to slam to a stop, but his fingers wouldn't let me. My brain attempted to come to terms with what he'd just asked me. _He'd asked me_. Eric had always done it whether I wanted it or not. Of course I never wanted it...he left me with no control, at his mercy.

Tom was giving me control. The right to say no. The _choice_.

I found my voice.

I said yes.

 _I said yes_.

His fingers stopped and I felt my skin cool immediately once his hand was no longer heating it. And then a stinging burn as he slapped me, right where he'd been stroking me.

My eyes flew open in shock. It wasn't a hard slap, just enough to get my attention. It stung, landing against my unsuspecting tender parts, but my reaction was mostly because I wasn't expecting it. I looked at him in confusion and tears sprang to my eyes against my will. He soothed the sting, resuming his soft steady strokes as if he'd never stopped.

He was whispering to me again, asking if I wanted another. I bit my lip so hard it cleared my head, but I was more confused than before because all I could think to say, through my perfectly clear head, was yes.

Before I had a chance to take it back, his hand slapped against my privates again. It stung even more this time, and I jerked my hips downward to get away from it. He told me to lie still, but it wasn't an order. It was an instruction, because another blow struck me, quickly.

I yelped and jerked my hips again. I felt my lower lip start to tremble. Tears were burning my eyes. But his soothing words still growled in my ear... _Shall I stop? Or shall I continue...?_

I wanted to be mad, because I thought I should be. I wanted to be outraged and hurt, because I thought that was what I was supposed to feel. Eric made me feel all those things. But I wasn't mad, or outraged, or hurt. I was aroused, and I felt like crying because he was asking my permission. Yes, he was hurting me - but he was asking my permission to do it.

And I was giving my permission because I wanted to, not because I felt pressured or forced.

 _I wanted to_.

He stroked me for several long, beautiful seconds before he gave me another little slap, a gentle one this time. I'd been anticipating it and the absence of the sting took me more by surprise than the previous harder blows. I was getting sore, deliciously sore, all the soft bits between my legs beginning to ache. He gave me another, and then another, his silky growling voice asking me if it hurt.

 _Yes_ , I whispered. _It hurts._

_Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?_

_No._

Another slap, so hard this time that I grabbed his wrist, my eyes clenching shut to stars dancing in the blackness while the burn almost sent me into orgasm. I couldn't believe such a thing was possible...I tried to push my knees together but he stopped me with his voice... _let your legs fall open, darling...let me reach all of you_...he chuckled softly against my ear as his fingers went to soothing the pain again, stroking and rubbing, sliding easily in the abundance of slick, warm juice I was coating them with. I'd never felt anything like this before, not even close.

And then he told me why.

_While I'm gone, your sweet little pussy is going to ache from my slaps...every time you sit, or walk, or cross your legs, you're going to feel the pain I've inflicted...and when you do, you'll think of me. And every time you think of me, I want you to touch yourself - just a touch, nothing more. Every time you ache between your legs. By the time I get home you will be wet and ready for me before I even make it to the door._

I could only reply with two words.

_More, please..._

He granted my wish, alternating gentle taps with stinging blows, stopping to stroke me in between so that I could recover before the next slap made me cry out in trembling desire and delicious pain. The soft folds between my legs were quivering, waiting in anticipation for the next contact and yet dreading it at the same time. I was riding on the brink forever, my muscles clenching and my belly on fire with that white hot electric tingle that pulls you up and up until you crash and explode, but each momentary withdrawal of stimulation halted my ascent as he paused to let me catch my breath. Soon he wasn't granting me that kindness anymore, and I was crying out with every soft quick slap and groaning uncontrollably with every agonizing stroke, till finally he whispered in my ear _Come for me now, sweetheart._

And I obeyed. It ripped a violent scream from my throat and took the breath out of my lungs, but he stroked me till I was finished and I had to tug at his hand to make him stop. He slipped one long finger into me, deep, to enjoy the clutching sensations of my muscles contracting, and I heard him make a sound of satisfaction as his finger was pulled deeper into me by the gripping aftershocks of my orgasm.

And then it was over.

He pulled me close to him and held me, speaking softly to me, though I'm not sure what he said in those first few minutes. It was all too intense, too powerful, and my head was reeling with the realization that I'd just given this man complete control over me - and he'd turned around and handed it right back to me. Gift wrapped.

All the times Eric had hurt me, and it had always humiliated me because there was nothing I could do about it. He was bigger and stronger and I was small and weak and powerless.

Tom had just hurt me, but he'd asked lovingly for permission to do it, before he ever touched me. He'd given me power by giving me the option to make him stop. He'd used exquisite pain to give me arousal that would last until he returned to me to soothe it.

And for the next four days, every time I winced at the tenderness between my legs, every time I slipped a fingertip between my swollen, bruised folds to touch myself because I'd thought of him, all I could think about was the next time he'd be leaving town so I could feel this again.

When he came home, I greeted him at the door, already wet and ready for him, just like he'd said I would be. He held me and kissed me tenderly, and whispered that he loved me.

And for the first time, I said it back.

 

 

 


End file.
